


Saudade

by EmpressCactuar



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, References to Canon, Reincarnation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressCactuar/pseuds/EmpressCactuar
Summary: Time froze while he looked at the young man's face. Someone he'd never met before. Someone he'd known forever.(Reincarnation AU, Bertholdt and Reiner don't reincarnate at the same time. Bertholdt is a 43yo novelist, Reiner is a 19yo music student)
Relationships: Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I've had this idea floating around in my head for a while. It always seemed to me like reincarnation aus had the characters reincarnating to match their canon age differences. So I decided I wanted to write an au where they didn't reincarnate at the same time.
> 
> Bert is 43 and Reiner is 19. Other characters ages vary, but I would say some rough estimates:  
> Porco is in his late 20s, Pieck early 30s, Marcel/Annie mid-20s

"Mr. Hoover! What was the inspiration for your newest novel?" 

"Mr. Hoover! How many more books can we expect from you over the next three years? Any plans?" 

"Mr. Hoover! How do you feel about your bestselling work getting a major motion picture adaptation?" 

Bertholdt sighed to himself when he finished waving to the paparazzi and sagged back into the seat of the limousine. He'd just released a new book, the highly anticipated fifth novel in his detective series. He'd never been a mystery writer, and found his fame with a series of dystopian romance novels. But he truly had a knack for the craft, and had published books in almost every genre. His foray into mystery had been just the latest in a long string of successes. And with it, he had more money, more fans... 

But really, writing was just what he loved to do. There was nothing like weaving a story, a whole new world for people to explore and become invested in. He truly loved the path that he'd taken in life, and he knew that he was fortunate. He could do what he loved, lived comfortably, and was able to care for his family. 

Sometimes the paparazzi asked him questions he didn't like answering. For example, why was he still single at forty-three? He was handsome, known to be one of the kindest celebrities around, and was once again voted one of the nation's most eligible bachelors. His Italian-American heritage blessed him with good looks, after all. And to top it off, he was beyond rich from all the money he'd made writing bestseller after bestseller. 

Another uncomfortable favorite question of the paparazzi had become "are you lonely not being in a relationship," because damn sometimes they knew how to dig at his deepest insecurities. Before he was an internationally acclaimed author, he had simply been Bertholdt Hoover. Loving husband of one Jean Kirschtein. They'd been happy enough. Highschool sweethearts turned husbands. They even talked about kids. 

Then one day, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Jean absolutely lost his mind and started barking out accusations about being a goddamned traitor, a monster, and he could never forgive him for what happened to Marco. Bertholdt had been beyond confused; he'd never met anyone named Marco in his life! But Jean just _wouldn't_ sit down and talk to him. 

The divorce had been nasty, and Jean had been downright cruel. And before the ink on the divorce papers was dry, Jean had gone off with some freckled man also named Marco. He'd been devastated. Heartbroken. Confused. Lonely. And even now, years later, Bertholdt hadn't gotten remarried. He hadn't had much in the way of relationships since then. If anything, because he couldn't take heartbreak like that again. If Jean could hurt him like that, anyone could! 

Which was all well and good until the paparazzi started bothering him about his relationship status again. Bertholdt hated the barrage of questions about his personal life that he so often got. He just wanted to write! And he loved seeing the work he cherished so much be adapted into a movie. He had such a kind fanbase, too. What did his personal life have to do with any of that? Whether or not he was tumbling around in the sheets with someone had nothing to do with the release date for his movie. 

"Dad, I'm home!" Bertholdt wasn't sure his father would hear him. His home was very large, but in spite of that his father usually likes to hang around in the downstairs living room close to the door. Sure enough, Bertholdt went into the living room and saw his father reading on the sofa. He smiled, then sat down by his father. "What are you looking at, dad?" 

"Hey, son. I was just reading about the movie they're making for your book. Did you have any influence over the actors they cast?" Bertholdt laughed to himself and scooted closer to glance at what his father was reading on his tablet. It was an article about the cast for the movie based on his book. 

"A little bit. I personally requested a couple but they couldn't get the actor I wanted to play the lead. So I got some say based on who the casting director felt was appropriate." Bertholdt leaned back into the sofa next to his father and looked around. This was effectively his father's own little corner of their large home. He'd been a massive film buff when Bertholdt was growing up, and now he got his father movie memorabilia any chance he could. There was even a small home theater in the mansion just for his father to enjoy old classics. 

Yes, sometimes Bertholdt found his life a little bit lonely. He wondered how things would have been different if Jean didn't suddenly change one day and leave him. But he found a great deal of comfort in his father, and for him Bertholdt was eternally grateful. Who supported him after the divorce? Who encouraged him to write his first book? Who comforted him after his first book was rejected by almost every publisher? 

"Well, if the movie isn't that good just remember it isn't your fault. These days I swear Hollywood can take a classic and fumble it." Bertholdt hummed and turned on the TV while his father read. "Do you know who's doing the soundtrack to your movie?" 

"No, I don't. I'm going to negotiate for more creative control if any more of my works get adapted into a film. I got carried away in my excitement to have my work adapted, that I kinda ignored a lot of what my manager was trying to tell me..." Bertholdt's words were sheepish, and he blushed when his father cocked a brow at him. 

"Just be careful, son. You know people are vicious in Hollywood. I don't want my boy getting burned too much." Bertholdt nodded his head at his father's words. He was right. Sometimes the world could be cruel. 

But he had a good life. Even if he was a bit disappointed in the film adaptation in the end, he had his father. His friends. A comfortable home. And that was all he could really ask for. 

  


Sometimes his friends acted a little oddly around him. By that, Bertholdt mostly noticed sometimes they would act like he _should_ know something, or they would say things that didn't quite make sense. Two of his best friends were Porco and Pieck Galliard. A few years younger than him, but some of his most cherished friends all the same. They'd been comrades of his that he'd met years ago when he first moved from his old hometown after his divorce. 

They'd seemed so starry-eyed and excited to meet him, like they expected him to know them. They'd seemed disappointed and told him that he reminded them of someone, but they were still warm and hospitable regardless. And Porco's younger brother Marcel and his wife Annie seemed excited to meet him, too. But again, they brushed off their joy at seeing him in the end. He couldn't help but wonder if they knew another Bertholdt before? 

But regardless, it was going to be a good day today. His friend Porco helped him out sometimes to keep him on track for book signings. Because he'd gotten in a little bit of trouble before where he would keep going way past when he was allowed to, and book stores had trouble closing on time. Porco would make sure everything was done when it needed to be done, and he had no issue enforcing the rules. 

There was nothing more Bertholdt loved than meeting his fans. He would write messages in the books, pose for selfies with his fans, and offer words of encouragement to aspiring authors. He smiled wide for a selfie with an excited teenage girl who wanted her copy of his first mystery novel signed. It warmed his heart so much to hear fans tell him he inspired them to start writing. 

Of course, he loved seeing all sorts of different fans approaching him. Older men who admitted they thought fantasy romance was silly until they read his book, young men who admitted to crying at the end of his books, young girls who asked him for tips on how to get better. One of his personal favorites was the older lady who'd sheepishly admitted to writing fanfiction of his work. Bertholdt had never felt more flattered and honored. 

The store had since closed and he was packing up the small table where he was signing. Bertholdt always found it important to stay humble, so he arranged for signings at smaller local bookshops in addition to the ones at larger chains required by his publisher. He felt a tapping on his shoulder, and turned around to see Porco behind him. "Hmm? What is it, Porco?" 

"Uh, well... there's a fan outside who won't leave. He says he refuses to leave until he gets the chance to meet you." Porco reached behind his head and scratched. "You know usually I'm all for chasing people away, but I think maybe you should sign this guy's book." Bertholdt cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. Porco? Saying he should meet someone extra? That was odd... Bertholdt glanced down at his watch and bit his lip. He was supposed to go out to eat soon. Normally he'd be all for meeting a fan, but not now. 

"Sorry, Porco... you know I have that dinner reservation to make it to." Bertholdt finished packing up his stuff and glanced back at his friend. Porco had a concerned expression set on his face. "Porco?" 

"Bertholdt, I _really_ think you should hear me out. I think you need to meet him." Bertholdt shook his head. He didn't want to argue with his friend. He didn't want to be cruel to a devoted fan, even though he was going to be late to dinner. Hopefully the restaurant would hold his seat even if he were a couple of minutes late. Bertholdt followed Porco to the door and went outside. 

Excitedly, a vinyl record was pushed into his face almost immediately. A Russian accent came from behind it. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Hoover! I just had to come meet you, I've been waiting to meet you for a long time." Bertholdt glanced down and looked at the record. It was a vinyl record of his favorite band's bestselling album. Not collectible, though. It was still in the shrinkwrap, most likely purchased from a bookstore or from the mall fairly recently. 

Bertholdt didn't look at the young man's face, because as soon as he looked away from the record there was a book in his hands. Bertholdt chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Who am I making this out to?" Bertholdt absentmindedly asked. There was a moment of silence, and Bertholdt found himself frustrated with his fan's lack of answer. "What's your name?" 

"Wuh... uh..." Bertholdt internally rolled his eyes, then glanced up. The young man was looking at the ground, and Bertholdt shook his head. He knew sometimes fans got overwhelmed, but he did have places he needed to be. 

"Hey, kid, I need to..." Before Bertholdt could answer, the fan grabbed his arm and looked up at him. Bertholdt normally would've jerked his arm away, called for security, or have done _something._ Tears were dripping out of the young man's amber eyes, and suddenly Bertholdt felt like the entire world around him was starting to crumble away. Time froze while he looked at the young man's face. Someone he'd never met before. 

"Bertholdt..." 

"Reiner...?" 

Someone he'd known forever. 

  


Bertholdt groaned and rubbed at his forehead. He felt like he'd been hit with something, and he wished the pounding headache would just go away. The ray of sunlight came in through the curtain, and he went to grab for another pillow to cover his head. That way he could go back to sleep and wake up when he felt like it. 

"Ow..." There was a soft groan after Bertholdt's hand hit someone's head instead of a pillow. His heart skipped a beat, and he froze. He barely remembered yesterday. He ate breakfast with his dad... went to lunch with Porco, then they had a book signing... But after it ended, Porco said he needed to meet someone. Bertholdt's eyes slammed open and he hurriedly sat up in bed. 

Oh, he was naked... the young man in bed with him scooted closer to him and sat up so he could nuzzle his face into his chest. The body was warm, and a finger roamed along his bare chest. Bertholdt glanced down and saw affectionate eyes looking back up at him. A content smile crossed the young man's face while he hummed happily. The young man leaned up and pressed a delicate kiss to Bertholdt's cheek. 

"Bertholdt..." Bertholdt closed his eyes and took a deep breath while his young lover cuddled into him. His mind was racing, but that didn't seem to be the case for the young man clinging to him. "I've dreamed of this for so long..." 

The Russian accent was interesting. Bertholdt couldn't help but wonder how far this young man... no, Reiner. How far had Reiner come to see him? His mind was foggy. It made plenty of sense that Reiner knew his name. But he knew Reiner's name before Reiner had said a word. That didn't make sense. And he felt like he'd known Reiner forever, even though he'd just met the young man. 

And just hopping into bed with a stranger? That wasn't really in his nature. He liked waiting until the third date to have sex. Especially since he'd gotten famous; he didn't want to just feel like a story for someone to tell. A notch in someone's belt. Call him idealistic but Bertholdt tended to attach emotion to sex. But Reiner seemed to be full of emotion, if his mindless humming and nuzzling were any indication. 

"Reiner?" Bertholdt's question came out low, and Reiner picked up on the confusion. Bertholdt pulled away and started running his hand through his hair. He stood up and walked away from his bed, then pulled the curtain back to get rid of that damned sunbeam. Reiner pulled up the blanket to cover his chest while he watched Bertholdt. The bedroom was nice; bookshelves lined the walls, filled with knickknacks and photographs. "I... I'm confused." 

"Come back to bed, Bertl..." Reiner said softly. Bertholdt frowned. He'd never heard that nickname before, but it felt familiar all the same. Reiner's voice was like a siren's call, beckoning Bertholdt to just crawl back into the mess of sheets and blankets. Bertholdt got under the covers and stared at the young face in his bed. "I love you." 

"I... Reiner, I just met you..." Bertholdt shook his head while Reiner scooted closer to him. Reiner buried his head into Bertholdt's shoulder and hummed. "Why do I feel like I've known you my whole life?" 

"I remember the first time I ever saw you. You know your works are translated into different languages. My mama got me a hardcover edition of your first book. And when I saw the picture of you in the back flap, I dropped the book." Reiner pulled away, then leaned up to peck a kiss to Bertholdt's cheek. "I didn't know why... but then I started having dreams. About me and you. And I remembered." 

Reiner was starting to sound crazy, like a crazed fan weaving a story for an excuse to get into bed. But Bertholdt couldn't deny the fact that he was sure he'd known Reiner too. "What did you remember, Reiner?" Bertholdt's question was soft. He wanted to know. His head was hurting. His mind started to wander, but then he pulled away and felt his stomach turn. "Porco? Pieck? Annie? Marcel?" 

"You know them? I was so happy to see Porco again, but I haven't seen anyone else..." Reiner was quiet while he shook his head. He looked like he wanted to talk about something, but was holding back. Bertholdt wanted to know, but Reiner was being infuriatingly coy with whatever it was he knew. But there seemed to be some guilt on Reiner's face, and that fueled Bertholdt's frustration even more. 

"What did you remember, Reiner?!" Bertholdt didn't mean to come across harsh, but Reiner seemed to recoil at Bertholdt's slightly raised voice. He was immediately apologetic and ran a thumb along Reiner's cheekbone, to which Reiner closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Reiner... I didn't mean to snap. But please, please tell me. This involves my friends too, doesn't it? Porco and Pieck? Annie and Marcel?" 

Reiner's eyes were teary, then he started crying softly to himself. Bertholdt swallowed, then saw the pain in Reiner's eyes when he looked back up. "Мне жаль... Это я был виноват. Ты умер из-за меня..." Bertholdt didn't have the foggiest idea what Reiner had just choked out. He spoke Italian from growing up with an Italian mother, but Russian? Absolutely not. Reiner clung to him while he sobbed. "Прости меня..." 

"Reiner, I don't know what you're saying..." Bertholdt attempted to calm Reiner, and did so by gently rocking the young man. Reiner cried for a few minutes, and truth be told Bertholdt was having a hard time processing what the fuck was going on. He woke up with a handsome young man in his bed and now he was crying in Russian? This Reiner guy knew his friends' names? Usually people didn't wake up naked in other people's beds only to cry. 

After Reiner first started clinging to him Bertholdt had wondered if the polite thing to do would have been to make the young man some breakfast. Now he was trying to soothe the handsome stranger. Bertholdt's mind drifted to his father; how was he going to explain this? His dad knew he didn't sleep around. Did his dad see him come home with this man last night? 

"I'm sorry, Bertholdt..." Reiner mumbled quietly. Reiner glanced up to look at him with a seriousness that Bertholdt didn't expect. Reiner smiled sadly and started stroking Bertholdt's cheekbones with his thumbs. "I'm so happy I get to see you, though... I always wondered what you'd look like. You're like fine wine. Just better with age..." 

Bertholdt grumbled and pulled away. "I'm not that old..." Another insecurity the paparazzi liked to exploit. Forty-three and single for how long? Was he getting past his prime? Probably not... his family was very long-lived. His mother died in an accident, but his nonna and bisnonna were both still alive and well. And his father's family tended to live a long time, too. He wasn't past his prime, was he? "You're saying some strange things, Reiner... do you need some medicine?" 

Reiner paused and looked back down at the bed. "You don't remember everything yet..." Reiner clutched tightly at the sheets and shook his head, then ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want you to hate me, Bertholdt. I've looked forward to seeing you for so long." Reiner moved to put both of his hands on Bertholdt's broad shoulders, then squeezed the warm and soft skin. "Please... promise me you won't hate me. Please." 

"Why would I hate you?" Bertholdt's question came out as a soft mumble, but Reiner shook his head. Reiner got out of bed and turned around, and Bertholdt couldn't help but swallow and admire the man's ass. It was perfect. Maybe he was distracted from the situation at hand, but Bertholdt wanted to feel it. He probably did that last night, didn't he? Usually waking up in bed naked implied requisite activities. 

"I... I need to go, Bertholdt." Reiner put on his underwear, a cute pair of boxers with musical notes on them. Bertholdt found them endearing but made no comment on them. Would Reiner be able to leave the house? How'd he get here last night, anyways? A quick shrug of the shoulders, then Bertholdt got up and started dressing himself as well. 

"Let me get you some food and a drink, Reiner." Reiner paused after he'd finished dressing himself, and if Bertholdt didn't know any better he would think Reiner was staring at his partial nudity while he made himself decent. In spite of that, Bertholdt gestured for Reiner to follow him; it took no convincing at all for the young man to follow him like a lost puppy. "I guess I need to ask you something, Reiner..." 

"What is it?" Reiner's question was distracted; he was looking around at all of the things in Bertholdt's home. Awards, art, his prized record collection, the nice rugs on his tile floor. There was a strong Italian influence in Bertholdt's choice of art, and Reiner stopped in the hallway to admire a large painting. "Oooh… _The Birth of Venus?_ Is it the original?" 

Bertholdt processed Reiner's question, then burst out laughing. Reiner's face turned a beet red, and his expression turned indignant. He started to open his mouth to protest while Bertholdt walked back to his young acquaintance. "No, it's not the original! Why would I have the original?" 

"I-I don't know!" Reiner crossed his arms and looked away. He was clearly embarrassed, but part of Bertholdt found it cute. He almost looked like he was pouting. "I can tell you're really rich... I was thinking maybe you had enough money to buy it? That's what rich people do, collect paintings?" Bertholdt stopped laughing and shook his head while he admired the painting on his wall. A reproduction. An expensive and very high-quality one, but a reproduction all the same. 

"No... I just like it. I've always thought it was a beautiful painting, and it reminds me of my heritage. It's not a secret that I'm Italian-American. My dad met my mom while he was studying in Italy." Bertholdt paused and admired the painting alongside Reiner. "Venus was the Roman goddess of love, beauty and sex. The Roman counterpart to the Greek goddess Aphrodite. There are lots of gorgeous artworks of her, but I love the softness of her face here. And the way her hair is billowing in the wind." 

"Yes... it is a gorgeous painting." Reiner turned to Bertholdt and gave him a smile. The two of them walked away from the painting to Bertholdt's kitchen, where he made some quick and easy food for the young man. Reiner accepted the toaster waffles and ate them happily. 

"Reiner... I have to ask. What did you mean earlier? Will I hate you? You act like you've always known me... just like my other friends did. And you mention Porco so casually, like you know him..." Reiner stared vacantly into his syrup on the plate whenever Bertholdt spoke. He sighed and looked at Bertholdt seriously. 

"Bertl... just... well, you'll understand. I don't want to say something that might make you think I'm crazy. I... look, I'm a student. I'm training to be a classical musician, but I love performing. There's a bar with a large Russian clientele on the outskirts of the city. To the east of here. I like to perform there on Thursday nights." Reiner sipped at the orange juice Bertholdt had poured for him, then gave him a hopeful, if not guarded, look. "If you want to see me again, come to the bar. I'll be there. For you, Bertl, I'll do anything." 

"Let me call you an Uber, Reiner... you don't need to do that. Here, I've got you." Bertholdt followed Reiner and the two of them went to the front gate of his home. Bertholdt didn't want to leave the mysterious man that he swore he knew, so he was content to wait alongside him. It was getting to be late in the morning, and the sun was already up in the sky. Maybe they slept in late after doing god knows how much in his bedroom last night. 

"Oh, I think I see the Uber coming." Reiner turned to look very seriously at Bertholdt, then reached a hand out to put on his shoulder. "Bertholdt... Я тебя люблю." Bertholdt cocked his head to the side and frowned. Had Reiner said that earlier? He couldn't be sure... all the Russian sounded the same because he couldn't understand a damn work. 

"What does that mean, Reiner?" Reiner shook his head and laughed to himself. The vehicle approached, and Reiner hopped inside. He gestured for the driver, someone who apparently had no idea who Bertholdt was judging by their lack of reaction, and rolled the window down. 

"If you decide to see me again, if it's okay with you. I'll tell you later. Okay?" Bertholdt shook his head, then gave Reiner a soft smile. "Haha. Okay. I'll see you later." 

"Ciao." Bertholdt watched the vehicle drive away, and with it Reiner was gone. He went back to his large home, him noticing that the landscaper had put in some new perennials. He'd need to tip the man later. 

Where was his father? He'd worried about his dad asking about Reiner, but now that Reiner was gone he was still nowhere to be found. Bertholdt sighed a breath of relief when he found his dad watching _Psycho_ in the home theater. His dad always was a sucker for the classics. Surprising his father while watching that wasn't the best idea, so Bertholdt went back to his study. 

What was he going to do today? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I wanted to get more posted while I'm off from work, but being sick isn't really conducive to me getting much done. I didn't even have anyone beta this chapter...  
> oh well! Enjoy!

"Are you okay, son? You've seemed troubled all day." Bertholdt glanced up from twirling the spaghetti around his fork to look at his father. Bertholdt had told his personal chef to take the day off, so he made dinner together with his father. His father learned a lot from his mother about cooking. Of course, it wasn't the same. When he was younger, Bertholdt absolutely loved eating his mother's cooking. His nonna was the only one who could cook like his mama, but he hadn't been to Italy to see her as of late. 

Maybe a little trip to see his nonna and bisnonna would be good soon. And how could he forget his nonno and his happy zio too? Maybe seeing his family to clear his head was what he needed... 

"Bertholdt?" Bertholdt snapped out of his thoughts and smiled at his father. His father shook his head, then gave a small grin. "I'll never understand what goes on in that head of yours, Bertholdt... I was asking if you were feeling okay. You've just seemed like something has been bothering you. Want to talk about it?" Bertholdt shook his head, earning a worried look from his father. 

"No, dad, I'm fine. I was just thinking about mom's family." Bertholdt took a bite of his food, then sighed at the flavor. His personal chef would never be able to get his nonna's sauce recipe just right. The recipe was given to his father many years ago to welcome him into the family, so Bertholdt enjoyed the bit of his heritage. "Say... would you want to go to Italy soon? I want to go see nonna and zio. Maybe bisnonna too." 

"Ah, it's been some time since I've seen Gianna's family..." Bertholdt watched his father smile fondly, then shake his head. "If you want to go to Italy, I would love to go with you. I miss everyone. Why have you been so preoccupied about that all day? You know they love seeing their little Bertholdt." As if to punctuate his point, Bertholdt's father reached over to ruffle his son's hair. Bertholdt groaned at that, then brought his long fingers up to fix himself. 

"I'm forty-three, you'd think they'd have stopped calling me nipotino by now..." Bertholdt's father chuckled and took another bite of his food. "I've just had a lot on my mind. I met a strange person yesterday, and for some reason I feel like I've met him before. Maybe I was just dreaming." 

"I'm not going to say you have an overactive imagination. I don't want to feel like I'm getting in the way of your creative process or anything like that. But you've been working very hard lately, since your most recent book got published. And especially with the movie deal... you need to take a break, Bertholdt. How about you go put on your trunks and sit in the hot tub for a while? After you've eaten, of course." Bertholdt's father smiled sweetly at him while he remembered a sweet and cute child. "Oh, and they'll never stop calling you nipotino... mio bambino." 

"Ugh..." He supposed it made sense that his dad still called him his baby. 

Bertholdt drew himself a hot bath in his extra-long bathtub after he'd been finished with dinner. He poured in his lavender bath milk and sat in the calming waters once he was ready. There were tons of things he'd been happy to indulge in once he'd started making lots of money from book royalties, but his bathtub was one of his favorites. Being over six and a half feet tall meant it wasn't easy to find a bath he could comfortably fit into, but once he'd found one he'd had it installed into his home immediately. 

The night before still wasn't clear in Bertholdt's mind. There had been a couple of condom wrappers haphazardly tossed onto the floor that he'd cleaned up after Reiner left, but he couldn't even remember the activities that they implied. After he saw Reiner outside the bookshop, everything was a blur. But this morning had been very real. 

No matter how good the sex must've felt, Bertholdt would have been lying if he said that it felt better than the young man cuddling him so intimately and mumbling "I love you." It almost reminded him of a time long ago when someone special did the same to him. Before the divorce. He'd slept with lots of people since then but it never made him feel so warm inside. But the way Reiner held him made him feel that warmth he so desperately missed. 

Too bad the kid was acting so weird. In hindsight, it put Bertholdt off a little bit. What sort of college student clings to what may as well be an old man claiming love after a night of sex? And the way he talked the morning after... strange. Bertholdt shook his head and instead breathed deeply, taking in the calming aroma of lavender. He wiggled his toes under the hot water, then leaned his head back to rest on his bath pillow. 

He glanced out the window and looked at the moon, high in the sky. His personal master bathroom was impossible to look into from the outside, so he kept the curtains pulled open. The city's skyline was beautiful. It made him feel at ease. Bertholdt closed his eyes back and hummed a tune to himself. After he was done with his relaxing soak, he put on his slippers and robe and walked down the hallway. 

Ah, it looked like his dad had already gone to sleep. He thought about asking if he wanted to watch a movie, but instead Bertholdt laughed to himself and shook his head. He headed to his bedroom and took off his slippers, then got ready for another day. Maybe tomorrow he could start his first draft of the last novel in his mystery series. 

Yes, that would be a good idea. Then he could take a break from writing for a little while and just relax. Maybe an extended break? A couple of years, maybe...? His bisnonna was getting very old; already 108 years old! He needed to get some time in with her while he still could. 

Bertholdt yawned and wrapped himself up in his blanket. 

  


"Bertl, can you help me? Please?" He glanced over at the other boy training to be a warrior candidate. Well, no, that wasn't right... they both had yellow armbands now, they were both warrior candidates. Reiner was sheepish, and held an arm to his side. There was a scrape on his elbow, and Bertholdt remembered that he saw Porco shove Reiner to the ground earlier. Before he could do anything to help his friend, Marcel had come and started berating his younger brother. 

"What do you need help with, Reiner?" Bertholdt's words were genuine. Reiner seemed very wound-up and upset, and Bertholdt couldn't bear to see the sight. Why were his friends mean to his other friends? Porco was never mean to him, but for some reason he just pushed Reiner around so much. Reiner was staring at the ground when he approached. "Are you okay? I have another bandaid..." 

"Huh? No, this one is fine. I already replaced the one that bled through." Reiner glanced at his own elbow. The red splotch in the middle was small; the bleeding had stopped for the most part, and underneath was a scab that Reiner would pick off in bed that night. Reiner was looking vacantly at the ground. “Can you teach me how to shoot?” 

“What do you mean? You already know how to get in position and pull the trigger.” Reiner frowned at Bertholdt’s words, then shook his head before he met Bertholdt’s eyes. 

“No, I need you to teach me! Your aim is so good, and everyone knows you’re the best shot! I want to learn from you. Please, Bertholdt? Teach me?” Bertholdt paused and thought to himself. He wasn’t exactly sure what he knew that Reiner didn’t. He remembered the way his dad taught him how to shoot... maybe his dad knew something that the military didn’t show Reiner? 

“Uh, sure. I can show you how I shoot.” It took some convincing, but when it was framed as being for the betterment of the Marleyan military the pair were allowed to practice their shooting after their training for the day was over. Bertholdt and Reiner sat side-by-side, the two of them loading their rounds into the gun wordlessly. Bertholdt set up the targets. 

“So I get into position like this...” Bertholdt glanced at his friend and saw Reiner. His body was stiff. 

“No, Reiner, let me help you...” Bertholdt sat next to Reiner and adjusted the gun. “Just relax, Reiner. I know it’s hard, but pretend like nobody else is here. Breathe slowly, okay?” Reiner stared at Bertholdt for a moment, then shakily nodded his head. He breathed in, then breathed out. Reiner hesitated for a moment, then pulled the trigger. 

“Ah... I hit the target...?” Reiner seemed confused, but swallowed when he looked at the target. Nowhere close to the center, but he’d hit the circular target area all the same. Bertholdt smiled softly; it wasn’t a huge improvement, but it was an improvement all the same. Bertholdt put his hand on Reiner’s shoulder and squeezed it. 

“That’s better, Reiner! But you’re afraid of the recoil... it’s okay! I used to do it too... I’ll show you how to get over that. It’s easy.” Reiner gave Bertholdt a thankful, if not tiny, smile and then adjusted so he was more comfortable. 

  


His eyes slammed open, and Bertholdt found himself panting while he rose up from his bed. He reached for his arm, then frowned and reached for his nightstand. “Where’s my armband...?” He mumbled to himself. But as soon as he turned the lamp on, Bertholdt found himself in his same old bedroom. There was a book on the nightstand, as well as his cellphone. He grabbed it and checked the time. 

Two in the morning? He wanted to go back to sleep, but he was awake now. Bertholdt grabbed his phone and got up, then retightened his robe. His house was quiet; his father was sound asleep, and he had no pets. Not anymore, anyways. His precious dog, Strudel, had passed away a few months ago and he hadn't had the heart to get a new pet just yet. The silence was eerie, but he felt more relaxed when he got to the kitchen. 

The dream had felt so real. And his friend, Reiner... he had the same face as that mysterious young man. Bertholdt ran a hand down along his face while he thought about the man. Obviously the person in his dream was a child and the Reiner he'd met the day before was an adult. But there was no mistaking that it was the same person. 

But their ages didn't match up the way they were supposed to. Bertholdt frowned and did some mental math; when Reiner was born, he was twenty-three... but in his dream, they were the same age? He'd have been in his thirties when Reiner was the age of the child in his dream. But Reiner spoke so fondly of him, like they'd spent so much time together. 

Had they met before? Bertholdt chewed his lip and decided to do something he tried hard not to do; he opened the freezer and grabbed the tub of ice cream, then got himself a spoon. Eating his confusion, stress and feelings was something he was trying to get away from. Not that his figure was suffering, but just because he needed to not do that regardless. 

Now more than ever he wanted to go to the Russian bar that Reiner mentioned. Grab the young man by the shoulders. Ask him for answers. He knew something. 

...Bertholdt found his stomach fluttering slightly at the thought of the mysterious young man. A familiarity seemed to come with his thoughts. Even more so than the day before. He knew Reiner was reliable, and could help him figure out what was going on. He wasn't sure how exactly he knew Reiner was reliable, he just did. But it would be a few days before he could see Reiner again, if he only performed on Thursdays. 

His head hurt. Bertholdt finished off the carton of ice cream, then tossed it in the trash. He'd buy more for his dad later. For now, he took some painkillers and went back to his bed. He clutched tightly at the pillows and shook his head, desperate to finish his night off with a restful sleep. 

  


“Pieck, I need to talk to you. Are you free?” His sleep the night before wasn’t restful. But the image of that young blonde child, Reiner, wouldn’t leave his mind. And he knew that somewhere out there, right now, Reiner was wandering around doing whatever it was that he did. Was he a soldier? No... saying Reiner was a soldier based on that dream would be like saying he was a soldier. And if there was anything Bertholdt wasn’t it was a soldier. That lifestyle wasn't really something he had any interest in. 

“Eh? Porco and I were thinking about going out to eat. You need to talk? We can come over after lunch, if that’s okay with you.” Pieck’s words had a hint of worry in them, but she maintained her collected composure. 

“That’s fine. You know the code to get into the gate. I’ll just be in the downstairs living room, okay?” Pieck laughed on the other side of the line, prompting Bertholdt to cock a brow. 

“You mean your dad’s living room?” Bertholdt rolled his eyes and hung up the phone, then started to get dressed for the day. He’d stayed home again; his next signing wasn’t for another few days, so he was fine. He’d been granted a few days reprieve from the demanding schedule put forth by his publisher; he may as well relax while he can. 

Next Sunday he'd be back on the road promoting his new book and the movie. Day in and day out meeting fans and signing books, talking to movie executives, listening to his dad telling him to take care of himself... It was going to be a lot of hard work, but maybe it would help him clear his head. Bertholdt leaned back into the sofa in the downstairs living room and sipped at a small glass of wine. 

It didn't come as a surprise when he heard the front door open. Bertholdt finished his glass of wine, then looked to the side when Pieck and Porco came into the room. He gave a wide grin to the pair and brought up his wine glass. "Hey, guys... would one of you fill up my wine glass? There's plenty to go around if you want to get some." Pieck eagerly took the glass, then quickly returned with a glass for herself as well. 

"Didn't get me any?" Porco crossed his arms and grumbled, then got up to go get himself a glass. Pieck got comfortable in the sofa next to Bertholdt and looked to the side at her friend. Porco returned with a glass, then gave his wife a sour look. "Thanks for the wine, dear..." 

"You're welcome, my piggy." Porco blushed but turned away. Pieck relaxed and sipped at the wine. "It's a little sweeter than what I like, but it's still good..." She smelled the wine and sloshed it around in the glass. "What'd you want me and my piggy to come over for?" 

"It's about a dream I've had last night... and this man I met. His name was Reiner." Bertholdt put his wine glass to the side and threaded his fingers across his chest. "It was the man that you said I needed to meet, Porco." Porco hummed and stared vacantly into the wine in his glass. 

"So what happened after you met him?" Porco asked. Bertholdt saw the curious look Pieck was giving him to the side, and for some reason he suddenly worried he was going to say the wrong thing to his friends. He fidgeted with his fingers, then sighed. 

"I don't remember exactly... I guess we had sex, I woke up next to him in bed." Pieck laughed gently, but otherwise said nothing. Bertholdt felt his cheeks burn at her reaction. "But the next morning he was clinging to me and said he loved me. Then he begged me to not hate him and started saying things in Russian." 

"Russian? That's interesting." Pieck shrugged and took a gulp of her wine. As much as she wanted to get more and get a good buzz going, she knew she shouldn't. Getting drunk too early in the day wouldn't make for an easy time for her husband. And Porco had enough going on in his life right now as it was. Oh well. 

"What do you mean interesting?" Bertholdt held his own arms and stared at the floor. Pieck nuzzled into his side affectionately, and Bertholdt put an arm around her in response. She always was the touchy-feely friend. "You make it sound like it's weird that I hooked up with a Russian man..." 

"It's weird that you hooked up at all, seeing as how you get so flowery about love and sex sometimes. Porco and I have had lots of sex with people we don't love but that's not you." Bertholdt didn't care to pay attention about their apparently _flavorful_ sex life. "What happened in your dream?" 

"You two were both there... and Marcel and Annie, and the Russian man. Reiner. We were all the same age... actually, I think Marcel was older than you, Porco. And Reiner seemed so timid, he asked me for help on how to shoot his gun. We were all wearing yellow armbands." Bertholdt brought a hand up and ran it through his hair. "I don't understand. It felt so real." 

"You're not crazy, Bertholdt. Porco and I both had dreams like that. They started whenever we met each other." Pieck laid so her head was resting in Bertholdt's lap. He brought a hand down and started running his fingers through her hair. Pieck hummed, pleased with the affection. "I think... they're memories of lives we lived before." 

"What?! What are you saying?" Bertholdt pulled his fingers away and looked incredulously at his friend. Pieck was never one to react strongly to her friends and didn't flinch at all whenever Bertholdt jerked his hands away. "Why would you say something like that?" 

"Because she and I both know what you're talking about. The yellow armbands. Training with guns. All of us being the same age." Porco sipped at the cola he'd brought into Bertholdt's house. "We didn't know you didn't remember when we met. That's why we'd seemed so excited. Because we remembered you." 

"You... remembered me...?" Bertholdt shook his head, then buried his face in his hands. "Does that mean he remembered me? Reiner?" 

"Did Reiner tell you his name?" Porco asked. Bertholdt frowned and thought back to the moment he met the young musician. No... he didn't, did he? 

"I just knew it. I looked at Reiner and I knew his name before he told me. I thought it made sense that he knew my name because he claimed to be a fan of mine. But Reiner never said anything to me about his name. I don't remember anything we did that night." 

"Besides fucking?" Pieck asked bluntly. Bertholdt stuttered and looked away. 

"I don't remember that either! I just... assumed." Pieck laughed at the answer and let Bertholdt run his fingers through her hair again. "But then Reiner told me he was sorry. He started crying and said he was sorry and begged me not to hate him. I don't understand why he would think I would hate him." There was a tense silence in the air, broken only by Porco's sigh. 

"Bertholdt. You're going to remember a lot of things. Some are good. But a lot are bad. A lot are bad. And for Reiner especially... I would say I understand why he's upset." Porco threaded his fingers together, then shook his head and put on a smile for Bertholdt. "But the most important thing to remember is it's over, Bertholdt. Everything you remember is over. You're safe now. I promise." 

"I'm safe? Safe from what?" Pieck got up and sat next to Bertholdt with her hands folded in her lap. "You guys are making me nervous. Just like Reiner did. Is everything okay?" 

"Everything is okay now. They weren't before, but all of that is over now. You're safe, we're safe, Annie and Marcel are safe. And I guess Reiner is too? I haven't seen him..." Porco shrugged his shoulders and finished his soda. 

"Reiner should be safe. He seemed okay when I saw him. I got him to give me his phone number just in case he needed anything." Porco scrolled through his phone absentmindedly. "He hasn't said anything though. I don't know what he gets up to most of the time. All he wanted was to see Bertholdt." 

"Why is Reiner so young? I'm old enough to be his father..." The thought crossed Bertholdt's mind, but he pushed it away immediately. He certainly didn't go that far out of his age range when he usually sought out the companionship of another person. Pieck shrugged and stood. Porco joined her in standing. 

"I wouldn't look at it like that, Bertholdt. You're both adults. No sense in splitting hairs over semantics. As long as you're both consenting adults neither of you did anything wrong." Bertholdt nodded to himself and followed his friends to the door. "We're going to go see Marcel. He was feeling pretty sick yesterday. Text us if you need anything, okay?" 

"Okay, Pieck. Tell Annie and Marcel I said hi." Bertholdt nodded at his friends when they closed the door and left. He'd hoped for reassurances, but truth be told Berthold wasn't sure how to feel. He supposed there was comfort to be found in knowing he wasn't a lunatic and that his friends seemed to understand. At least to an extent. 

Bertholdt felt tired. He'd hardly been up, but he wanted to go back to sleep. He made his way back to his room and pulled the covers over his head in an attempt to will his life back into normalcy. 

  


"Daddy?" Bertholdt crawled onto his father's lap. His father looked down at Bertholdt and gave a happy smile, then ruffled his son's hair. "Are you feeling better?" His father smiled softly and nodded his head, then ran a thumb along his son's cheek. 

"Yes, my son. I'm feeling just fine." Bertholdt glanced down at the red armband he wore now; he was so, so happy when he became a warrior. His daddy had needed to see doctors. But not doctors like Dr. Jaeger. His daddy needed advanced doctors. Marleyan ones. Or else he was going to die, and soon. No sooner than Bertholdt had inherited the colossal and become an honorary Marleyan, his father was getting the care he needed. 

His daddy was getting better right before Bertholdt's eyes. Now his daddy could even go outside with him! For a long time his daddy was stuck in bed and was seriously ill. It had broken Bertholdt's heart, and his mama was getting worn down from caring for him. 

"I'll take you to get some sweet rolls later, okay?" Bertholdt's father said softly. Bertholdt nodded and leaned in towards the bed to give his father a warm hug. Seeing his father sick had been hard. He was afraid for a long time that his daddy was going to die. But now he was getting the care he needed. 

That by itself made becoming a warrior worth it. 

  


"Dad!" Bertholdt nose out of bed and looked at his arm. No armband. He put his hands on his face and felt the familiar wrinkle he always tried to ignore. Hurriedly, he hopped out of bed and left his room. Bertholdt looked to the left and right, finding no sight of his father. What time was it? Bertholdt went back and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. 

It should be about lunch time... he walked quickly down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen. His father glanced up from eating a sandwich and gave a tiny wave. "Hey, son, I see you're-" Bertholdt's father found himself interrupted by a bone-crushing hug from his son. Bertholdt shuddered and put his ear to his father's chest. Yes, his heart was still beating... he was fine. "Fine?" 

"Daddy..." Bertholdt mumbled quietly. He felt his father's large hand awkwardly patting his back, but he pulled away and looked seriously at his father. "Dad. Are you okay? You're not sick? Do you need to go to the doctor?" 

"Eh? Sick? No, I feel just fine..." His father laughed awkwardly, then shook his head and put a hand on Bertholdt's shoulder. "Did you have a bad dream? I'm just fine, Bertholdt. And I know if something was wrong I'd be taken care of as soon as possible." 

Bertholdt paused, then nodded his head. "Yeah, a bad dream. I... I love you, dad." Bertholdt's father hummed and hugged his son, then went back to his sandwich. 

What was up with him? Why would his father be sick? Bertholdt looked back at his arm and noticed the lack of armband. What the armband meant, he wasn't sure. It didn't matter now. 

But maybe it used to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try and get the next chapter written... eventually... maybe when I am less sick? ^^;


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I wanted to get this up a little bit earlier but I wasn't feeling inspired. I've been a little bit sick a few days, got engaged, felt lazy, you know how it is.
> 
> Extra special thanks to my beta reader for helping me make my fic the best it can be ;u;

If there was anything Bertholdt was going to actually resent Reiner for, it was taking away his ability to sleep like a rock. Sleep was one of the most pleasurable things in the world; it was right up there with really good food and really good sex. 

Bertholdt chewed his lip. Did his father ever have these weird dreams? If he did, either he never mentioned them or kept them secret from Bertholdt. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Did his father have lots of traumatic memories? From what he could tell from the dreams he'd had, Bertholdt could only infer his father was a simple man with a weak constitution. He seemed to not be involved with war efforts at all. 

But his father had faded as of late. In a bizarre way, it made him miss his father. When he woke up, it almost felt like he’d go downstairs and his father–ever the early bird–wouldn’t be there. And every morning, he'd be watching his movies or writing his reviews. Hell, sometimes Bertholdt would find him cooking on days their personal chef was off. His chocolate chip pancakes were the best. 

His dreams kept him preoccupied with Reiner. Like a moth drawn to a flame, almost. The thought of seeing the young man again was more prominent in his mind every day. 

It was Thursday morning now, and Bertholdt knew that he was going to see Reiner at the bar tonight. He'd googled the bar and found the place Reiner was talking about; it wasn't exactly a dingy place, but it wasn't high-class either. Apparently they had a karaoke night on Sunday but Bertholdt wasn't sure he cared. He was going to have to be discreet, lest he be spotted on the way to the bar. 

Bertholdt sagged into his couch and pinched his brows. His dreams were getting to him; Pieck and Porco's words didn't help. He saw them in his dreams a lot, but sometimes they weren't there. At one time he took a nap and dreamed that Marcel had been gobbled up by a horrifying monster. Then Annie beat the shit out of Reiner, then they were all crying. 

All he'd wanted when he'd woken up was his father. And of course his father hugged him and told him it would all be alright whenever Bertholdt sought him out for a comforting hug. 

A simple black hoodie, zip-up in the front. Zipped all the way up, of course. Sunglasses, despite the sun going down on the edge of the horizon. He'd look weird, but that didn't matter. With the hood of his jacket pulled up, the odds of anybody recognizing him were low. He could say all day long that he wasn't concerned with what the paparazzi said, but it would be a lie. The last thing he needed were magazines speculating on why he was going to a random Russian bar at night and hanging out with a college student. 

Bertholdt swallowed and looked at his own reflection. He had laugh lines on his face, and that made him frown. He took care of himself, obviously. Only the best skincare products, and he kept himself relaxed. All things considered, his skin was flawless. Except for his fain laugh lines and that damned wrinkle between his eyebrows. But he wasn't close to considering botox, because he'd rather just accept his age. 

Okay, he could do this... he was just going to the bar to see Reiner. Just the guy that was apparently special to him? All the dreams he'd had with Reiner there made it so obvious that they cared for one another. Bertholdt found comfort in the friendship he shared with the boy. A childhood friend that important? Bertholdt almost wished he could feel that again; all the friends he had now he'd met later in life. 

A lot of his friends suddenly became cold when they were younger. Armin and Mikasa, Jean and Connie... all of them became distant and finally stopped talking to him. Had he known them in his past life? 

What happened that made them hate him so? It was like he was trying to make his life make sense, and it was driving him insane. Bertholdt sighed and grabbed his wallet, then put it into the pocket of his hoodie. 

No need to tell his father he was going out. He wasn't a child anymore. And his dad had the sense to lock the house up if he went anywhere. With that in mind, Bertholdt got into his simple black sedan. A new and expensive car, but not sporty or super luxurious. 

Really, it was just a brand new version of the car he'd had years before. With all the bells and whistles included, because why not? Heated seats, leather interior, a top-tier sound system... but still, not sporty enough to make it stand out. It kept prying eyes away. 

He needed the GPS to get to the bar; he didn't go to the outskirts of the city often; he knew the neighborhood, but not where anything in particular was. The lights were starting to flicker on throughout the city, and many college students would be out soon for Thirsty Thursday. Bertholdt parked his car and slipped on his glasses, then pulled up his hood. 

There were a few other cars in the parking lot, so it wasn't going to be dead inside. Bertholdt breathed deeply, then got out of his car and locked it up. He went inside and went to sit down by the bar. He glanced around and saw groups of friends sitting with one another; there was a low chatter of Russian words, with some English mixed in. When Reiner had told him about the Russian bar, Bertholdt imagined mostly older men. But there was a wide range of ages, much to his surprise. 

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. Russians weren't all older, and they weren't all men. Indeed, there was a table of young women speaking with no noticeable accent at all save for one Russian lady that probably told them about this place. 

"Hey, can I just have a bottle of cider?" The barkeep approached and took a look at Bertholdt, then nodded his head. Bertholdt thanked the man and gave him a tip; his days of being carded were long over. There was no pretending to be older to get alcohol anymore. Bertholdt took a few sips, then turned around in his stool and looked around. 

Bertholdt felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Reiner with what he could only assume were two friends. Maybe an older friend? Bertholdt cocked a brow whenever he saw the beer in Reiner's hand; he wasn't old enough to buy alcohol, at least not here in the states... the women he sat with had their own drinks as well, but neither of them were noticeably older than him. Reiner didn't seem to notice him, but Bertholdt found himself too nervous to say anything anyways. 

Some time passed before Reiner got up to go on stage. He wasn't the only one to perform; the blonde woman he sat with sang a beautiful song. She was a petite woman; was she even five feet tall? But soon enough Reiner took to the stage and started to play the piano that was there. The way the melodies came from the piano while Reiner focused on the keys was enticing. Bertholdt found himself ready to ease himself into the music and relax. 

_"Как упоительны в России вечера,  
В закатном блеске пламенеет снова лето,  
И только небо в голубых глазах поэта…  
Как упоительны в России вечера."  
_

Bertholdt noticed the hushed silence from the other patrons. Many of the older men that were there had almost nostalgic looks on their faces, and Bertholdt wished that he knew what Reiner was saying. His low voice hung in the air delightfully, and Bertholdt found himself enamored despite having no idea what was being said. It sounded like Reiner almost... missed something? Someone? 

_"Пускай всё сон, пускай любовь игра,  
Ну что тебе мои порывы и объятия?  
На том и этом свете буду вспоминать я,  
Как упоительны в России вечера."_  


Reiner was definitely talented, there was no question about it... he got up after he performed another song, him having earned ample applause from the audience in the bar. Reiner waved back confidently and accepted some money he was offered by other patrons. He went to the bar and handed some of the money to the bartender, then got some alcohol in exchange. 

Bertholdt frowned in confusion. Wasn't Reiner only nineteen? Not old enough to buy drinks... but at the same time, Bertholdt wasn't willing to put his nose where it didn't belong. Was Reiner using a fake ID? Maybe. Bertholdt couldn't judge; he was a young college student once too. His old fake ID sat in a box of old knick knacks at home. 

It took another bottle of cider before he could muster up the courage to go talk to Reiner. As soon as he finished his drink, Bertholdt dropped the empty bottle into the trash can and made his way over to the table. The sound of soft Russian chatter filled the air, and Bertholdt couldn't help but feel like he was intruding. The blonde girl and her brown-haired friend cocked their heads when Bertholdt approached the table, but a wide smile crossed Reiner's face. 

"Bertholdt!" Reiner stood and pulled him into a hug, then pulled him down into the booth. The two women Reiner sat with studied him for a moment, followed by the brunette woman shaking her head. 

"Oi, Reiner... you just can't stay away from him, can you?" Bertholdt frowned and studied her. Freckles, hair pulled back into a ponytail... the blonde woman sat close and rested her forehead on the brunette's shoulder. "You got old, Bertl." 

"...Ymir? Krista?" Bertholdt frowned and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't seen them in his dreams, not at all... But the woman he knew was named Ymir called him by that same nickname that Reiner had. The blonde girl grunted and shook her head against Ymir's shoulder. 

"You don't need to be so mean, Ymir... besides, forty is the new thirty!" Krista chirped happily. Reiner laughed and said something in Russian, but still Bertholdt found himself confused. Ymir snapped back, and Bertholdt had never been more unsure of what to say or do. Krista reached a hand over the table and cheerfully told him something, something that made Reiner blush before the two women left them alone. 

Bertholdt got up and moved to the other side of the booth, then sheepishly smiled back at Reiner. Reiner took a drink of his beer, then started fidgeting with his fingers. "I... I wasn't sure you were going to come, Bertholdt. I'm so excited to see you." Reiner chuckled nervously and finished his drink. He looked at his bottle, then back at the bar. "Give me just a second, I want another drink." 

Reiner left, leaving Bertholdt to watch him get another beer. He had a nice ass, didn't he? Bertholdt quickly looked away when Reiner turned and came back to the booth. He sipped at his beer, and Bertholdt couldn't contain his curiosity. "Reiner?" 

"Hmm?" 

"How did you get that? Aren't you only nineteen?" Reiner glanced at his beer, then laughed and shook his head. He offered a drink to Bertholdt, but he decline. Reiner shrugged and drank more. 

"Yes, by American standards I am too young to buy alcohol. But I'm from Russia! So are lots of people here. I know a bunch of these people because I've been coming here for a while... so the barkeep sells me alcohol because if we were in Russia it would be fine." Reiner paused, then leaned forward. "You don't need to go telling anyone that, though..." 

"Oh, don't worry. I won't." Reiner nodded and leaned back into the booth. Reiner's expression turned into one of nervousness, and he couldn't help but sigh heavily and scratch his head. "Are you okay, Reiner?" 

"Y-yeah, I am... Uh, well... how much do you remember?" Bertholdt folded his hands together on the table and met Reiner's eyes. Reiner had a look of serious apprehension on his face, a stark contrast to how he'd felt earlier. "You don't... you don't hate me, do you?" 

"Reiner... let's not talk here. I'd like some privacy." Reiner nodded and grabbed his beer. They stood outside until Reiner finished his drink, then the pair got into Bertholdt's car. "Which one is your car, Reiner?" Bertholdt's words were spoken softly. Reiner shrugged and looked out the window. 

"Krista drove us here. She'll probably go ahead and leave without me, if I had to guess. Ymir will tell her not to worry about me." Reiner closed his eyes as though he were lost in thought. "If you can't take me home later, I can have my stepdad pick me up somewhere." 

"I'll take you home, Reiner. Don't worry about getting stuck somewhere, okay?" Bertholdt leaned his seat back. He'd had a drink, but the car wasn't on and he wasn't buzzed at all so it was okay. Reiner fidgeted and turned to look at Bertholdt seriously. Bertholdt swallowed and met Reiner's eyes. "I don't think I could ever hate you, Reiner. I feel... drawn to you." 

"You do? Really?" Reiner's eyes were wide, and... dare Bertholdt say it, starry? Reiner grabbed Bertholdt's hand and held it between his own. His skin was warm, like the summer air outside. Reiner brought Bertholdt's hand to his face and kissed it gently. Reiner paused and gave Bertholdt a look that was almost heartbreaking. "I don't deserve you, Bertholdt. You... really are the best. Even now you're so kind to me." 

"If you were anyone else, I would've thought you were a crazy fan that charmed your way into my bed. I won't lie, I felt some sort of way whenever you left the other morning." Bertholdt took a sharp breath in and bit his lower lip. "But then I had a dream. I had a yellow armband. And a boy, a boy with your name, asked me how to shoot a gun. And I showed you... I mean, I showed him?" 

Reiner closed his eyes and cracked a small smile. "I can shoot now. My stepdad and I used to go shooting before I moved out to go home." A hand drifted to Bertholdt's cheek. "I wouldn't have minded learning from you again, Bertl." The thought of someone else teaching Reiner to shoot almost made Bertholdt jealous. As though the memory in his head was a lie. "You were gentle with me. My stepdad's not mean about it. But I remember you teaching me. I treasure that memory of us together." 

"It was no problem, Reiner." Bertholdt felt stuck between what he knew to be true and what he also knew to be true. When he was nine, he loved reading books with his friend Armin and making spaghetti with his mama. But when he was nine, he was a warrior candidate, and he was trying so hard to get his sick dad the care he needed. Bertholdt remembered that when he was eleven, Reiner was his best friend in the world. But he also knew that when he was eleven, Reiner hadn't even been born yet. 

There were two realities, but Bertholdt found himself unsure of what to believe was real anymore. 

Reiner closed his eyes and kissed Bertholdt's hand again, and he knew that was real. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. Reacting to a familiarity he couldn't explain. Bertholdt closed his eyes and leaned into the feeling of a hand on his cheek. "Я тебя люблю." 

The words held no meaning to him. Bertholdt opened his eyes and turned to the side to turn on his car, then turned on the air conditioning. He looked back to Reiner and held the young man's hands in his own. "I feel like I've known you my whole life, but this is only the second time I've met you." Bertholdt sighed and shook his head. Reiner was looking at him with an intensity that was almost intimidating. "I know it can't just be a coincidence. Pieck and Porco... you know them too, don't you? They talk about you like they know..." 

"I knew them. The same way you knew them and you knew me." Reiner smiled to himself as though he were remembering something pleasant. Bertholdt watched him and enjoyed the warmth of Reiner's hands. "But I haven't talked to them. Not here and now. I owe those two so much. For helping me after..." Reiner paused and looked like he was ready to panic. Much to Bertholdt's surprise, Reiner clutched at his shoulders and started squeezing. "Bertholdt. Are you really here?" 

"Yes...?" The distress was apparent, but Reiner pulled away and started breathing slowly. "Reiner... what happened?" Reiner shook his head and breathed deeply, and for the second time Bertholdt saw a stray tear drip down Reiner's cheek. "Please don't cry, Reiner... you were so happy just a few minutes ago." 

"Прости дурака..." Reiner shook his head and buried his face into his hands. "You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I didn't cherish you the way you deserved. Nobody deserves kindness and love more than you." Reiner leaned forward and pulled Bertholdt into an awkward hug. Bertholdt would be lying if he said that leaning over the console felt good, but it was okay. The warmth that Reiner radiated was comforting to say the least. 

"I don't know what happened, Reiner..." Something bad, obviously. Pieck and Porco didn't seem to know specifics. Or if they did, they weren't going to tell him. Reiner had much stronger reactions. "There are... things? Monsters called titans?" Bertholdt sighed into Reiner's shoulder. "The last thing I remember is you and me walking through a bunch of snow. Annie wasn't talking to us? She was mad. And a man, he was hanging from a tree." 

Reiner was silent. He sighed and clung tightly to Bertholdt. "I'm sorry, Bertholdt. For putting you through all that. You and Annie should've gone home." 

"Is it real, Reiner? I don't understand. It all feels so real. But I know when I was a child you weren't born. And I know nothing bad ever happened to me. My childhood was very happy, I know. I remember. Even now my father lives with me." Reiner chuckled softly. He pulled away and gave Bertholdt a smile despite the tears on his cheeks. 

"I'm so glad that your life has been happy. You deserve the best, Bertholdt. You have money, you can travel the world if you want. Not like back then, back in Liberio." Bertholdt nodded and stared down at Reiner's hands. His hands weren't used for guns anymore. Now they danced on piano keys. Bertholdt started his car and pulled out of the parking lot, much to Reiner's confusion. "Hmm? Where are we going, Bertl?" 

"I remember you calling me that... it's cute." Reiner blushed, but Bertholdt missed it because he was watching the road. "I want to go home. We can talk there. I don't want to stay in the bar’s parking lot." Reiner shrugged and looked out the window. The neighborhood that Bertholdt lived in was nice. Up on a hill, overlooking the city. Reiner watched with stars in his eyes as the city lit up at night. 

Bertholdt really was living a nice life like he deserved. Nice car, nice house, nice view... 

The gate opened, and Bertholdt drove up to his house. There were two other cars there, both simple. Bertholdt's other car, and his father's car. As soon as they were parked, Bertholdt got out and led Reiner inside. Bertholdt didn't see his father in the living room. 

"Where's your dad? It isn't that late, did he already go to sleep?" Reiner was close with his father in Liberio. Bertholdt could remember Reiner coming over and playing chess with him. If he had to guess... 

"He's probably in the home theater. Dad loves watching movies in there. Sometimes he reviews movies online, but not often. He adores the home theater I had installed into this house." Reiner hummed and clung to his arm. The weight on his arm was nice. Reiner pulled away and started looking around at the decorations Bertholdt had around his large home. "Let's go upstairs. The living room down here is my dad's." Reiner admired the film memorabilia in the living room, but went along with Bertholdt. 

"Your house is so big... I thought my family's house was big." Reiner sat down on the sofa in Bertholdt's living room. Bookshelves lined the walls, with a large television in the middle across from the couch. Bertholdt grabbed a record from the large collection he had, and Reiner couldn't help but notice him ripping off some plastic wrap. "Huh? Doesn't that make it less collectible and valuable?" 

"Hmm? This is the one you got for me last week. It isn't collectible at all, they're still being mass-produced." Bertholdt put the record into the record player he kept, then went to sit next to Reiner on the couch. Reiner was silent and staring at the floor. "Are you okay, Reiner?" 

"I just... well, I thought I did a good job. I knew you collected records and I knew that was your favorite band. But it's just a worthless mass-produced one. I must look like an idiot. I saw it at the mall and thought of you." Reiner laughed to himself and turned his head to look at Bertholdt. "I'm sorry." 

"No, Reiner, don't be sorry. It's not worthless." Bertholdt ran a hand along Reiner's cheek. "Its audio quality is amazing, and I can open it and listen to it whenever I want. Most of my records I can't listen to. I appreciate it." Bertholdt wasn't sure what was appropriate and what wasn't. What the nature of their relationship was, or what it was supposed to be. He leaned forward and pecked a kiss to his cheek. 

"I'm glad, then..." Reiner looked affectionately at Bertholdt and smiled. "You're so handsome. I... I always wondered what you'd look like." 

"I remember feeling like my time was limited. Like inheriting a power would limit my life." Bertholdt closed his eyes. "Dad was sick. But I wasn't. I wanted him to be healthy. I remember running around with you a lot. And Marcel, and Annie, and Porco and Pieck too." 

Reiner was silent, but then shook his head. "You know what really makes you handsome?" Bertholdt quit thinking about whatever happened before and focused on the man cuddling him now. He raised his brows to prompt Reiner to go on. "Your laugh lines. I love them so much." 

"Hey now... I don't like people pointing out my laugh lines... or my wrinkles." He felt a pang of self-consciousness whenever Reiner's eyes glanced up at his eyebrows. No amount of skincare would change the fact that he got older every day. He'd never tell Reiner, but he was jealous of the smooth skin. But then Reiner shook his head and rested his head on Bertholdt's shoulder. 

"No, your laugh lines are amazing. Your wrinkles, too." Reiner's tone was one of adoration, one that Bertholdt wanted to hear more of. "They're proof that you've lived. You've had lots of years with smiles and laughs. That's a good thing. I'm happy I get to see them. I told you before; you're like fine wine. Better with age. Not that you're not handsome in your younger pictures." 

Bertholdt blushed but wasn't sure what to say. Tabloids certainly didn't talk that highly about wrinkles and skin blemishes. He'd broken out once and the photoshoppers employed by a tabloid made him look like he was twenty years older than he was. That wasn't a good time for his self-confidence. The feeling of warm lips on his cheek brought Bertholdt back to reality. 

"Reiner... I don't know a thing about you. I'm starting to remember things... but that Bertholdt is gone. And you're not the Reiner you used to be." Reiner pulled away and met Bertholdt's eyes. "That Reiner was older than me. You're less than half my age. You talk about a stepdad that taught you to shoot. And you speak Russian. You're from a different world than me." 

A deep breath, then lips on his cheek. Reiner delicately stroked Bertholdt's cheeks and found it hard not to be enamored with the tiny, barely noticeable wrinkles by his eyes. Crow's feet. Surely the result of the same laughs and smiles that led to his laugh lines. "Then let me get to know you. Again." 

"Again?" Getting to know Reiner. He'd done it before, but that Reiner wasn't here. Reiner had obviously been special to him before. They'd trained together, went on a mission of some sort together. Something bad had to have happened, judging by how avoidant Reiner was. Pieck and Porco weren't straightforward either, all things considered. 

This Reiner was a young man he'd met two days ago. He couldn't deny that the old Reiner wasn't special... but he was gone. This young man never went on a mission with him. Didn't learn to shoot from him. Didn't play together in Liberio with him and all the other kids. He couldn't have. 

Reiner picked up on Bertholdt getting lost in thought and ran a hand along his cheek. 

"Here, I'll tell you about myself. Or myself that I am now... My family immigrated here from Russia a couple of years ago. Me, my mother, my stepfather, and my little sister. I play the piano and sing, but I can play several other instruments too. The cello, violin, bass, viola, guitar. And I like playing the flute, clarinet and alto saxophone too. But piano has always been my favorite." 

"You're so talented, I was mesmerized by your singing at the bar earlier. What were you singing about?" Reiner hummed and remembered his homeland. 

"It's a love song. But it also reminds me of my home. It's about evenings in Russia, I guess you could say. Lots of people like being reminded of home, you know." Reiner sat up and met Bertholdt's eyes. There was an excitement, one that suggested passion. "Before we came here, I used to love seeing the Bolshoi Ballet. I wanted to be a member of the Russian National Orchestra, too. My sister wants to be a ballet dancer." 

"Sister? You say you have a sister, and a stepfather too? I don't remember you having a sister..." Or a father. But Bertholdt didn't want to say that. That might open up a wound of some sort. Reiner hummed and leaned back into the sofa. He was still resting his head on Bertholdt's shoulder, but it was comfortable. Bertholdt kept an arm around Reiner's shoulder. 

"You know how you and I aren't the same age? Some of us came back sooner than others? It's... kind of like that with others too. My stepfather is only a few years older than you. I just call him отец now. But we used to call him commander." 

"Commander..." Bertholdt closed his eyes tight and thought. Combed through the memories with Reiner. With that armband. In the military... "I don't remember his name. Did it start with an M?" 

"Hehe. Yes... Commander Magath. He's my папа now. I don't say it often to him, but... I love him very much. He's a good dad, and taught me how to shoot." Reiner seemed like he was lost in thought for a moment while Bertholdt tried to process the idea of Magath being anything other than a military commander. "He cared about you, Bertholdt. He cared about all of us. He would never admit it because we were Eldians. But he did grow to care for us." 

"Hmm. So he's your stepdad?" 

"He fathered my sister. Gabi. I don't know if my aunt and uncle moved on somewhere else, but they're not here anymore. He loves me, but there's a special place in his heart for Gabi. And she adores him too. It's sweet. He's a professor at a university here. I get free tuition because of it." 

"Magath, a professor... What does he teach?" Reiner started mindlessly dragging his finger along Bertholdt's chest in a show of affection. 

"He studies military history. Russian history is his specialty, but he knows a lot about military history in general. Since moving here he's done a lot of work studying American military history." Bertholdt leaned to the side and pecked Reiner's cheek. The skin was soft and supple. "He always makes time to see me perform, or to go to Gabi's dance recitals. I think... he wanted a family in Marley but never got one. I don't know. Not really something I want to talk to him about." 

"Have you two talked at all about... uh, before?" A nod. Reiner closed his eyes and sighed, and his finger stopped roaming along Bertholdt's chest. 

"We have. And we understand one another. Especially now since there isn't this sort of wall between us. No Eldians and Marleyans. But... well, I remember the commander's death. I was there for it, I guess you could say. I'd rather not think about all of that. I'd rather think about him as the man that comes to my recitals with my mom and sister. Not as a military commander in a sadistic world where we were oppressed for having demon's blood." 

"I just... I remember people calling me evil. Being stuck behind a gate, and people spat at me. My dad would get mad and take me away from the mean people... You never did that to me. None of our friends did. But you called yourself evil once." Bertholdt buried his face in his hands, and Reiner held him close. Bertholdt shook his head and sighed. He wasn't going to cry, not now. "I like helping people. Being there for my friends. You definitely weren't evil, I know you couldn't have been. I remember you being so sweet and kind. Was I a devil?" 

"Нет! And you know it!" Reiner grabbed his shoulders and looked seriously at Bertholdt. "You know we were just kids. Fed lies about the world. You and I both lived with that guilt. We weren't evil... and the islanders weren't devils. But it's over now." Reiner leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. "It's over now. Everything that you haven't remembered yet is the past. It's over. You're an author now. Not a monster. Not a titan." 

"...Yes. You're right, I'm an author now." Reiner nodded, then pecked Bertholdt's cheek. The casual way he did it implied a past relationship. Indeed, he remembered stolen kisses in the dead of night from Reiner. But the details weren't back to him yet. He remembered harboring a crush on Annie, but when he saw her now he felt affection for a younger sister. Reiner said he wasn't a titan, but of course he wasn't. He was a human. Just like Reiner. "And you're a musician." 

"Ahaha. Not yet. I've still got some work to do. I've got a long way to go." Bertholdt chuckled to himself and settled into a comfortable silence with Reiner. Reiner would occasionally steal a kiss, and Bertholdt would return the favor. Reiner pressed his lips forcefully against Bertholdt's, then moaned when Bertholdt opened his mouth and pulled him close. Their hands squeezed at each other's bodies, but Bertholdt pulled away. 

"You can't spend the night, you said you have class tomorrow?" Bertholdt panted. Reiner looked away and chewed his lip. 

"Yeah..." Reiner mumbled quietly, then he turned back to clutch at the front of Bertholdt's sweater. "But it's okay if I miss a class, I'd rather stay here with you." Bertholdt closed his eyes and breathed in sharply at the sultry tone of voice Reiner was using. As much as he'd like to have this young man underneath him in his bedroom, other things were more important. Great sex wasn't worth Reiner's future. 

"No, Reiner. You need to go to class. Work your way towards becoming a musician like you want to." Reiner stared blankly at Bertholdt, then blinked wordlessly. He sighed and scratched the back of his head. Bertholdt always was the responsible one. In their past lives, and apparently now too. It was good to have someone responsible... but god! That wasn't what he wanted now. "I'll still be here tomorrow and Saturday, if you want to see me again. But I'm leaving on Sunday for work." 

"You'll be here tomorrow? And I can come see you then?" Reiner smiled softly at Bertholdt's nod. Bertholdt started to stand so he could take Reiner home, but he squeaked in surprise when Reiner pushed him back down onto the couch. Reiner sat down and brushed his lips against Bertholdt's ear. "Can I at least blow you before you take me back?" A nip at his ear made Bertholdt gasp. 

A quick nod, then Bertholdt damned himself for saying Reiner had to go back to his dorm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get the next chapter up in a couple of weeks. I'm going back to work tonight after two weeks off from having covid. I'm doing some extra overtime to make up for missing, so I won't have as much time to write unfortunately. ^^;

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone who speaks Russian wants to help me and possibly correct some incorrect Russian in my fic please message me on twitter, it would be very helpful for me :)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! If you liked it feel free to leave a comment or kudos.  
> I love you all, thank you for taking the time to read my fic ;~;


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